


And He Called Himself Pride

by FenVallas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Character Study, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenVallas/pseuds/FenVallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 Themes with Solas. Multiple points in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1-10

**_“Life”_ **

He looked out over the farm not for the first time, and found that everything felt different than it had before he had left. The quaint pond where the ducks swam looked so much smaller than it once had, but all the more significant for his nephew, who watched the birds swim across the surface with no small amount of wonder on his face.

Nothing here had changed; swathed in the sameness he remembered hating so much as a child. The world was lit by pastel dusk, quaint as it had always been, and he felt alienated for all he had changed. Whatever these people were, whatever he had once been, he could never be again. This world was as strange to him now as the temples of his city would be to the little boy watching ducks in the pond.

* * *

 

**_“Youth”_ **

“Are you ever going to settle down and have children?” His brother leaned out over the fence and they watched the halla graze together, the day lazy now that the bulk of the work was done.

“We don’t exactly do that.”

It wasn’t a confession. Confessions were for secrets, which this wasn’t. June and Sylaise might have children, but if they did he didn’t know about them, and Mythal and Elgar’nan… They were hardly shining examples of practical parenthood, which was as ironic as it sounded.

“I guess not.” His brother chewed on the end of a long blade of grass, worrying it between his teeth for a moment, lost in thought. “Shame. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He never would.

* * *

 

**_“Content”_ **

“Tell me,” June threw his feet over Fen’Harel’s legs and they both looked up at the passing clouds, “did you ever expect when you showed up on my doorstep those thousands of years ago that you would help build a city greater than any the world has ever seen?”

He pictured for a moment Arlathan’s spires, the tress in the public gardens that glowed with a life and a light all their own. Secretly, he thought the expanse of clouds above were more beautiful, that nothing artificial could ever compare to the great white pine that grew so tall and thick they blocked out the light of the sun.

“Oh I don’t know,” he said with a small smile, “I think we could do better.”

June laughed. “One day, my friend, we will.”

* * *

 

**_“Change”_ **

The _Eluvian_ was mostly shattered but it still served its dual purpose as a mirror, casting a distorted reflection, casting cracks across his shadowed eyes and hollow cheeks. He looked like a wraith or a wisp, little more than a skeletal frame with fanatically staring eyes that were the one bright feature on his otherwise sallow face.

He barely recognized the man in the mirror, dragging his bony fingers along his face and breathing out a shuddering breath. Who was this person? This man who had once been so full of life? What had happened to him to make his face look so… haunted? His time in the Fade hadn’t been traumatizing, but his physical body did not reflect the Fade.

This was the toll of two thousand years, which had more of a weight than he had ever thought they could.

* * *

 

**_“Dreams”_ **

He swung his legs over the edge of the fence and proceeded to walk across the grass as if the sky was not a swirling green void where a black spired shape lingered ever in the distance. The floating rocks and strange boundaries meant little to a man who knew the Fade better than he knew his own form. Here, he was anything he wanted to be, here his will mattered more than whatever boundaries were set in the world beyond.

“You are not a spirit,” said a voice to his left, and he stopped, staring into the face of something that mimicked the appearance of a human woman, though its uncannily green eyes made it folly to mistake it for anything other than what it was. “It would be unwise to see yourself as such.”

“Believe me,” he said, looking out at the bizarre horizon, “I am acutely aware of precisely what I am. Envy isn’t self-denial.”

Wisdom tilted its head and hummed appreciatively. “Indeed it isn’t. One can simply never be too sure with you.”

He supposed it was right.

* * *

 

**_“Break”_ **

“You can’t do this!” She pleaded, grasping at the hem of his tunic, trying to pull him back, do anything to stop him.

“No!” He spun around and stared into her eyes, and for once the force of his supposed divinity could be felt in the power that roiled from him. About him magic whipped and wailed, and the Foci at his side whined in high pitched protest of her words. “This is the only thing left to me, Fen’Vallas. Don’t you see? If I do not do this, all will be lost!”

“You can’t leave us,” said the woman, unafraid of the tempest of his godly might. “You can’t go. Who will lead us then, Fen’Harel? Who will guide us into the better future you promised us?”

For a moment it seemed that her words had an effect, but he simply shook his head and turned away, power faltering, breaking like waves upon the shore. “You will, Fen’Vallas, _‘ma da’fen_. You will lead them in my stead.”

Before she could protest, he walked away, leaving the world silent and smaller for his absence.

* * *

**_“Heaven”_ **

“We nearly lost everything,” the man said as he huddled underneath a thin blanket, staring out at the dark shapes of the mountains that rose around them. “I’m not convinced we still won’t lose the rest of what we have.”

“We will live,” he said in response, raising his eyes toward the sky and the Breach, which still scarred the heavens. “There is hope as long as your Herald yet draws breath.”

“But _does_ she live?” He paid more attention to the way the light glinted off the man’s many buckles than he paid to the hopelessness that saturated the man’s voice. “You can’t know that. You’re not omnipotent. Only the Maker has that power.”

“I don’t need to have faith in the Maker to have faith in Lavellan,” he said, and there must have been something in his voice that deterred further discussion, for his companion said nothing at all in response.

* * *

**_“Away”_ **

He curled up on his side, staring at the wall for a long minute in an attempt to find the willpower to move. Everything hurt, but his physical wounds were nominal compared to the hallow aching in his chest that threatened to consume him as surely as darkness consumed the world every night.

As much as he told himself there were worse things than this terrible, gnawing sense that he was the one who had destroyed his own life, he could not possible imagine a pain worse than this. Slamming his hand into the dirt, he swallowed the guilt and self-loathing and pushed himself to his knees with no small amount of effort.

_You had no choice, old man._

He reached for his staff and used it to steady his shaking limbs, ignoring the bite of another failure to focus on the next moment by taking one step forward and then another.

_You either gave him the Foci or you died. You are not the young man you used to be._

The reality that he was forever altered stung almost as much as his failure.

* * *

**_“Cut”_ **

“It’s a scratch,” Seeker Pentaghast said in dreadful monotone as he probed her wound with his long, thin fingers. “I will be fine, Solas, you do not need to –“

“We are in the desert, Seeker,” Solas said as his magic weaved about her and he visualized her skin as it had once been, recalled the feeling of flesh as it felt while whole. “Sand is fine enough to work its way into the wound, no matter how minor.”

“The Doctor knows what’s best,” Bull, who was with them to slay the High Dragon, chorused from nearby. “I wouldn’t want to let my wound fester and kill me because of some dumbass sand.”

He watched the Seeker make a disgusted face, a huff of breath pushing itself past her lips as she slumped in Solas’ hold. “Very well,” she said at last as the magic washed over her to finally seal the wound closed.

“Was that so terrible?” Solas asked, pressing a stamina potion into her hands.

Her look of disgruntled gratitude pleased him more than it should have.

* * *

 

**_“Breathe”_ **

She pulled his head to her lapt and soothed her fingers over his scalp, singing something soft underneath her breath. The words were wrong, he thought, but the tune was familiar, nostalgic. Something flared within his chest that something so simple could survive after thousands of years, something as elemental as a song that they both shared across centuries and wars and countless deaths.

Their losses had been innumerable, but once again she showed him that some small hope for the future yet survived, that there was something of the past yet worth holding onto.

“You’re giving me that look again,” she said softly, drawing him from his thoughts. “The one where your face looks sad, where Cole asks you about your pain and you tell him he can’t help.”

“ _Ir abelas, vhenan_ ,” he whispered and laced their fingers together. “Believe me, I am not sad now. I am pleased, because you give me hope.”

“You have too much faith in me,” she muttered, her fingers still soothing patterns over his scalp, her eyes distant, though she wore a smile.

“No,” he said and closed his eyes. “you do not have enough faith in yourself.”


	2. 11-20

**_“Memory”_ **

The woman always thumbed her nose up at anything she disliked and then refused to make even the barest attempts to understand it, as a result. It wasn’t that she was a foolish woman. No, certainly, he did have a certain level of respect for her intellect and her shrewd ability to manipulate a situation to her favor. No one could say she failed to understand the risks of magic.

It was her prejudices and inability to open herself up to any new experiences that set him on edge. She opposed him simply because she thought he was a fool, a troglodyte, an idiot who was playing with fire without understanding that he might be burned. For a moment, he wondered how she would react if he showed her a few of his memories.

What would she say if she knew he had once held more power than she could ever imagine and had done nothing with it that she would consider worthwhile?

He imagined she would be horrified.

And yet at the end of the day, he worried. Debating with her only served to remind him that one step in the wrong direction and he would **_be_** her, someone whose finest feature was the fact that they were not vapid, but worthless in nearly every other way.

* * *

 

**_“Insanity”_ **

“You are not losing your mind.”

Cole’s voice was always a balm, almost as much as the long, cool fingers that settled on his back and drew his mind from the million and one things that felt wrong about existing. Even living was a burden when he was thousands of years away from a home that had crumbled into little more than ruins, dusts, and corpses possessed by malevolent spirits.

“I do not want to be alone,” Solas finally choked out, allowing Cole to guide his head so that it was buried in the young man’s shoulder.

“You’re not alone, Dread Wolf,” Cole said, and his voice was soft and kind, far kinder than he deserved. “You’re my friend. I want to help and I won’t let you be alone.”

In that aching moment, Solas wished he could stay forever.

* * *

 

**_“Misfortune”_ **

“They think you hate them, you know,” said his sister, leaning out over the balcony and watching two of her underlings take an awed lap around the garden below.

For once, he didn’t feel like making a joke about what “they” she was referring to. He knew full well, and made a face in response, heaving a sigh he could only describe as disgruntled. “I don’t hate them; I just never want to see them again. I’m not sure why that’s so hard to understand.”

“You realize how that sounds, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, I am aware,” he tugged at the strands of his red hair and watched the light filter through them; anything other than looking at her face. “If they had wanted the blessing of a god, they should have let me pursue what I wanted as a boy. Instead, they tried to break me into a shape they found desirable. I don’t owe them anything and either do you.”

“I love our parents,” she said, but it sounded to him more like a protestation than an earnest defense.

“Loving someone doesn’t mean allowing them to walk all over you.”

Her response was silence.

* * *

 

**_“Smile”_ **

She traced the shape of his lips with the balls of her fingers, staring at him in the afterglow their legs entwined underneath the fine Orlesian silk duvet. In the firelight cast by the hearth blazing at the foot of the bed, she was beautiful, her face soft but strong, lovely in every way imaginable. He smiled at her, kissing her fingertips, his eyes slipping closed only to open them again when he heard her laugh.

It was a disbelieving sound, a slight puff of air from between her full lips, as she gazed at him as if he were the most important and beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes upon. “You should do that more often,” she muttered, still tracing his lips with her fingers.

“And what is it I am supposed to do more often?” He queried, skimming his fingers over her waist and hips, pulling her closer to his chest to feel the warmth radiate from her body.

“Smile,” she said, and then she kissed him into distraction.

* * *

 

**_“Silence”_ **

“Are you… alright?” The man was a human, which he knew meant more in this world than it had in the distant past, when humans were small tribal groups who settled Elven lands between the great cities.

He thought it was strange that the man was asking. Humans, from what he had observed, these little quick children, did not care about the Elves other than as servants and low-age laborers, those easily taken advantage of. It occurred to him, however, that there was more than one way of viewing the lower class, so he met the man’s eyes, hoping he looked timid. That had never been a look he was particularly good at.

“I’ve been alone for a very long time,” he said in a voice that was weak with fatigue, a voice that man the man’s brow furrow further.

“My name is Brother Lorenzo,” said the human, reaching out a hand to pull the man once known as Fen’Harel to his feet. “Let me help you. The Maker wills that no man suffer.”

Ironic, thought the Elf, that he should find solace in a Chantry when he had once had temples dedicated to his worship.

He had neither the strength nor will to argue.

* * *

 

**_“Pessimistic”_ **

“Are you always this cheery?” The Dwarf sat on a boulder as Solas looked up at the rift, feeling the energy pulse from the Fade, vexed beyond words. “Did you just… pop out of your mother’s womb with your great hair and wonderful sense of humor?”

Solas cast a glare at the man and reached out with his magic to brush against the rift. Naturally, he knew it was futile. Only the prisoner’s mark could seal them, or the person in possession of the Foci. One was unconscious, likely dead as the Breach continued to expand, and the other had caused the Breach in the first place, though of course that was privileged information that only he possessed.

“Right, that’s exactly what I thought you’d say, Chuckles, seeing as you’re the most talkative person here.”

“Master Tehtras, _please_ ,” Solas finally snapped, turning his eyes toward the Dwarf, “I am trying to concentrate. It is imperative I find an alternate solution if the prisoner dies.”

“Well aren’t you just full of sunshine?”

No matter what he said, Solas noticed that he had promptly shut up.

* * *

 

**_“Pirate”_ **

“Are you still up?” The voice had a light Orlesian accent, allowing Solas to identity immediately the person it belonged to; he didn’t look up, choosing to concentrate on his work.

“I am studying the area, Sister Leliana,” he said, turning a page to read more notes left by the previous inhabitants of the castle. The alpine air had preserved them, he thought, had they been closer to sea level, the parchment would have decayed by now. “Imported goods alone are not enough to sustain the hundreds of people who now call Skyhold home. The roads leading here must be prepared. As it is, they are currently vulnerable to attacks from bandits.”

“Clever,” said the woman, standing over his shoulder to stare down at the pages of his books. “I’m not surprised you can read older dialects of Trade, Master Solas. You are a man of many talents, and evidently very practical.”

“Someone has to be,” Solas replied, finally chancing a glance over his shoulder. “Everyone else is marveling at the miracle of the Inquisitor’s survival. I will have a report on your desk in the morning, Sister Leliana. This area has a wealth of natural resources the Inquisition can easily utilize.”

The woman gave him an odd look, but then smiled politely and nodded. “Thank you, Master Solas. Please, remember to get some sleep.”

“I will endeavor to do my best,” he said, and then she was gone.

* * *

 

**_“Novel”_ **

Fen’Harel watched Falon’Din carefully, searching his face as they walked across the bridge, though little was betrayed by the man’s expression. He was very good at playing politics, something even Fen’Harel would admit of the man, even on the days they hated one another the most.

“This isn’t the best situation,” Falon’Din said at last, his dark eyes sliding over Fen’Harel’s face as he made long overdue contact. “But I suppose if I’m going to play diplomat to the _Durgenlen_ , I might as well be with someone who at the least knows how to navigate through social circles.”

“Funny,” Fen’Harel said, “I was thinking much the same thing. They could have stuck either one of us with Andruil, and we all know that would not go well.”

“Indeed,” Falon’Din smiled, and there was the light of that respect that Fen’Harel sometimes detected between them. “At the very least, you’re a good conversationalist and don’t smell like halla dung. Not my first choice… But I can trust you not to make an idiot of yourself.”

“I’m flattered.”

Falon’Din only smiled.

* * *

 

**_“Doom”_ **

He would not have time to finish.

It was strange, he thought, a premonition. There was no way of knowing that the Foci would break, no way of knowing that it would have the worst possible ending, but he felt in the shift of fate itself what his ending was doomed to be.

What else was to be done?

A stroke of pigment against plaster, the barest outline of furious color, and Solas looked up into the eyes of Fen’Harel, the wolf snarling back down at him. He was tempted to press his hand against its neck, as if choking the air from its lungs, but his desire for the integrity of the unfinished mural to remain was greater than his rage.

He was shackled, burdened. He had given up everything for something no one ever would thank him for.

But it had to be done.

If not him, then who else?

* * *

 

**_“Garden”_ **

He laid back and stared at the sky, watching the stars above. It had been a long time since he’d done so, allowed himself a moment of easy leisure to simply take in nature as it was, without any interruptions. He recalled clearly the last time he had done so, millennia before, back when his heart had been a whole and beating thing.

Here, it was so quiet, and the camp was only a little ways off. Here, he could see an entire universe of stars and remind himself that the world was larger than the Inquisition. Sometimes, he was so caught up within the inner workings of the organization, so caught up in his goals that he forgot to breathe.

Solas needed this.

In the night, when no one else could see him, he needed this time to simply remind himself of nights long ago spent with friends.

He needed to remind himself that he had a heart still, no matter how small and broken it was.


	3. 21-30

**_“Confusion”_ **

Her eyes were the color of venom, amber in the torchlight, attempting to penetrate his skin and read his soul. A lesser man might have cowered before her, but Solas had stood before beings who made the very fabric of nature itself tremble with their power and stood fast. One human woman with a sword would hardly intimidate him, even if the threat she posed was very real to him in his current state.

“Leliana tells me you know things about the Breach that you should have no way of knowing, **_apostate_**.”

It was funny how much the word sounded like a curse on her lips. Once, magic was as commonplace as trees or grass, but now it was being bred out of the population by people who thought mages were little more than cattle to be corralled.

“If you suspect me, you shouldn’t. I believe she mentioned I was nowhere near the Conclave during the blast. Witnesses can place me here, in Haven. I am here only to offer my assistance, lest the Breach swallow us all.”

The woman, for all her bluster, drew her lips together into a pale line.

* * *

**_“Freedom”_ **

The small boy curled up into his side, unaware of just who the man he nuzzled against was. Fen’Harel preferred to keep it that way for as long as possible as they sat in the back of the sheltered liter, drawn by a single halla. There was always some sort of fear that they expressed when they discovered who he was, though he didn’t blame them. He had a reputation for being ruthless and clever, for showing no quarter to his enemies.

They didn’t understand that the common people were not his enemies.

Fen’Harel traced the dark pinions emblazoned in blood ink across the child’s cheek and frowned sharply. Dirthamen bore no direct responsibility for the way the boy had been treated, but they all bore ancillary blame for the continued existence of a system that allowed children like this to be shackled, abused, and beaten.

Seeing such a small body bruised the way this boy’s was drew emotion to the base of Fen’Harel’s throat, where it lodged like a stone. He would find a way to change this system, or he would let the Void swallow him.

There could be no more victims.

* * *

 

**_“Inevitable”_ **

“You could not have stopped yourself from feeling for her. I don’t know why you worry so much about something you can’t control.” Cole sat on top of his desk, staring at him from where he sat across the room on one of the couches, book in hand. “You could be happy. She loves you, too.”

“Sometimes, self-restraint is necessary” Solas said as he thumbed a page as if to turn it, though he wasn’t paying much attention to the words on the page. “Anything between us would only end in disaster.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t see the future,” Cole placed his chin on his knees and finally managed to capture Solas’ eyes. His stare might have been unnerving if Solas hadn’t been adjusted to the mannerisms of spirits. “No one can really see the future.”

“That is true, but that doesn’t mean I cannot make an educated guess,” Solas put his book down on the couch. “Cole, it is because I care for her that I cannot be with her. I do not want to hurt her.”

“I don’t understand,” Cole didn’t stop staring. “It would make you both so happy.”

“Being happy is not always the most important thing.”

“No,” Cole said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still important.”

* * *

**_“Idle”_ **

There was something of a chill on the air as Fen’Harel walked across the small gardens of his private rooms. He could hear the laughter of children and the sound of falling water, only one of which was out of place this time of the morning. Vaguely, he wondered why Fen’Lin would be up and romping about the gardens while dew yet covered the ground and pale sunlight bathed the garden in a pink glow, but quickly remembered the quiet little girl whom he had brought here only weeks before.

“ _Da’len_ ,” he called, slipping through the foliage of his natural garden to find Fen’Lin pointing toward the fish in the pond, the little girl wide-eyed beside him.

The boy turned his head when he heard his custodian, looking up at Fen’Harel with his precocious, pale green eyes. “She woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep so I wanted to show her the fish. I thought she might like them.”

The little girl did look amazed, but she had been born in an estate, a laborer for a noble who sent her each day to spin cloth, though she could not yet have reached her second decade. Truly a child.

“Are we in trouble?” she whispered to Fen’Lin, who stared at Fen’Harel inquiringly.

“No, Little Wolf,” said the Lord of Tricksters, kneeling beside the children. “I simply thought it was best we go eat something, and then I will show you the libraries. It’s about time you start to learn to read.” ** _  
_**

* * *

 

**_“Vampires”_ **

“Sons of a bitches,” The Iron Bull rolled his neck and Solas audibly heard the bones shift and pop. “They’re a bunch of leeches, that’s what they are, those Orlesian bastards. I mean, I get why we can’t tell them to piss off, but—“ He cut himself off, looking at Solas curiously with his one good eye. “You don’t mind me being here, right? I mean, I know this has to be fucking weird.”

“I’ve had less desirable people come to visit me,” Solas said in response, watching The Bull’s lips twitch up in amused response. “I must admit, I am at a bit of a loss, however.”

“Ah, just these Orlesian mercenaries that Josephine hired to get in good with someone on the Council of Heralds, or some shit,” Bull snorted. “I think they’re lead by the nephew of some masked bastard in Leeds. Or was it Montismard?”

“Are they giving The Chargers trouble?” Solas tilted his head, curious, perhaps against his better judgement.

“They’re entitled, is what they are. They think they own the Herald’s Rest now, that they should control the menu, even though they never do anything more difficult than deliver a package under armed escort.” Bull’s voice was little more than a growl. “I was actually on my way to explain to the Ambassador just what she should do with her mercenaries, but then I thought it was probably a better idea to come here.”

“Might I make a suggestion, Bull?” Solas asked, steepling his fingers in front of him.

The Bull arched an eyebrow in response, which Solas took as an affirmation. “Such parasites will usually stop being a nuisance when things become less comfortable for them than they would like. I suggest making the relationship they have with the Herald’s Rest less beneficial than it is now.”

In response, Solas received something like a wicked grin.

* * *

**_“Convention”_ **

“Place your hand on my shoulder,” he said, settling his palm against her waist.

She looked truly disgusted, he thought, her nose wrinkled in concentration, her brows knit together above her green eyes. There was nothing that could make her less beautiful to him, but in that moment, her expression was certainly amusing.

“Okay,” she breathed out. “I **_think_** I’ve got it. Show me the moves again?”

Solas guided her, step by step, speaking to her all the while, explaining to her exactly what had to be done. She would have to lead in Halamshiral. She would have to be the one in his place. Of course he would give her a chance to practice, but right now it was best she simply learn the steps of the dance.

“I have no idea how you manage to **_know_** all these things,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I have quite a bit of specialized knowledge myself, but you’re on a completely different level.”

“You don’t have the level of exposure to human culture and social onvention that I do,” Solas offered in way of explanation, feeling his breath get caught in his throat at her closeness; she was so warm. “I am certain you know how to behave at an _Arlathvhen_ , where an Orlesian noble would be at a complete loss.”

“They’d also probably get killed,” she said, perhaps not realizing that she was falling into the steps automatically.

Solas didn’t want to ruin the moment, with her head on his chest, so close he could feel how warm her breath was through the threads of his shirt, so he chose not to mention the danger her life would inevitably be in in Halamshiral.

* * *

 

**_“Roleplaying”_ **

Sylaise, beside him, grasped his arm as they walked toward the long, low table where they would be seated for supper. He was here as a favor to the Goddess and her husband, who was absent in a time of civil unrest, away at the front lines with Elgar’nan. If Fen’Harel was not injured from a confrontation with one of Ghilan’nain’s remaining beasts, he, too would likely be away at war.

The Goddess did not thank him as they sat down, but they had a job to do. They would not be here if it was not absolutely necessary, especially as the last time Fen’Harel had seen Andruil, things had gone very poorly. Sylaise would rein her in if she became unruly, though Fen’Harel planned upon speaking very little, if at all. He was here to provide magical support should things go awry.

Beside him, Sylaise squeezed his arm and snuck him a smile.

If this is what it took to maintain stability in Elvhenan, Fen’Harel would play his part.

He would not let Andruil, nor any of the others, ruin the lives of the people for the sake of their follies.

* * *

**_“Skull”_ **

Cole’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, though his wide, staring eyes did not leave the rows and rows of skulls, looking back at them with empty eye sockets. Solas felt the shiver wrack his friend’s body and saw the confusion on the Seeker’s face as she looked on at the two of them.

“They weren’t even afraid in the end,” Cole muttered. “But they should have been. How could they do something like this?”

“What is he talking about?” The Seeker’s eyebrows furrowed deeply, her eyes darting between Cole and Solas as if Solas could provide her with her answers.

“They had their emotions taken from them and then their lives,” Cole looked up at Solas with his wide eyes, and in them there were tears. “They didn’t even fight back. They look at me with malicious eyes and then stabbing pain followed by yawning nothing…”

“Cole.” Solas grabbed the young man’s shoulders, squeezing them. “They are already gone, Cole, there is nothing you can do to help.”

Cole nodded, but his face remained far paler than usual the entire time they investigated the grisly resting place of the countless Tranquil.

* * *

 

**_"Pain”_ **

There was a single instant in which he was terrified that the boy would be trampled underneath the halla. Relief flooded him when the boy rolled out of the way, and he practically jumped forward, pulling the child to his feet and inspecting him for injury.

“I’m fine,” Fen’Lin said while attempting to pull away. “I swear that I’m fine. You don’t need to--“ Fen’Harel hushed him held him in place, inspecting him carefully.

“You could have died,” Fen’Harel swallowed thickly, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looking him in the eye, struck suddenly by how tall he had grown. “What were you **_thinking_**?!”

Fen’Lin’s eyes widened and a blush crept across his cheekbones. He quickly looked around the immediate area, which prompted Fen’Harel to do the same. Finally, he noticed the many people were gathered. There was a small crowd, all watching as their god panicked over the well-being of a youth not yet in his three hundredth year.

“Milord, _please_ ,” Fen’Lin muttered, a plea loud enough that only Fen’Harel could possibly hear it.

That single word, Milord, felt like an impossible blow, and one he hadn’t been anticipating. It was enough to make him draw away, though his throat was tight with unseemly emotion. What they would say about this, he had no idea, but it would surely reach his enemies. His affections may have just put the boy – _young man_ – in danger.

“Let us go,” he said, turning about and ignoring the crowd completely. “We still have some ways to go toward the nearest Eluvian.”

In his mind, his brother’s words about settling down and starting a family seemed to echo, no matter how he bid them to leave him be.

* * *

**_“Joy”_ **

He watched her sleep.

It wasn’t as though he had crept into her room in the dead of night to gaze upon her sleeping form. She was curled up into his side, her arm thrown over his waist, her head tucked against his chest, mouth open as she slept deeply. Sometimes, her eyes would flicker behind their lids and she would mutter something unintelligible, a sleepy smile on her face.

He could feel all of her. Her skin was warm, and there was nothing between them, the sheets thrown over them both sheltering them from the cold mountain air outside. For a moment, he entertained the thought that it could be like this for forever. Every day he could wake up to her pressed against him, so close that he could feel her heartbeat. They could be together, and perhaps…

It was the flickering impression of a thought. An image of her round with his child, a band upon her finger, surrounding by people that they both cared about. He was happy, in this dream, happy to have a place to belong and people to belong to.

But he pushed it away.

His happiness was here, in the present. As much as it stung, that future could never exist, so instead of dwelling on it he looked back to the woman in his arms and concentrated on what he had.

For as long as he had it, he would cherish every moment.


	4. 31-40

**_“Chores”_ **

His mother watched him from the front of their small home, her hands on her hips as he carried buckets full of water to be heated for the children’s baths. Tangled red hair sat high upon his head, the bridge of his nose burned from spending the entire day out in the fields, growing vegetables to be sent to market.

To be honest, he was sick of the monotony, day in and day out of the same thing. He wanted to move away from here, though if he did leave he wasn’t entirely certain where he would go. Sometimes, when they went to city to trade vegetables, he would save the money he got for doing odd jobs for their neighbors and buy books from the merchants about spells and spirits. They were hidden things, things he could not show his parents, who didn’t approve of his hobbies, who thought his interest in magic was unnatural and not applicable to their everyday life.

Why expand your horizons if you only needed your magic to heat bathwater? Why be curious if the world about you provided you everything you needed?

But there were needs other than food, water, and shelter, needs of the mind that he could not explain to his stern faced mother and strict father. He had an insatiable spirit, one that could not be quenched if he spent the rest of his life on a farm growing vegetables, making cheese from halla milk, and looking after his four little siblings.

One day something was going to break, and when it did, he was certain he would find his freedom.

* * *

 

**_“Happy”_ **

They walked side by side across the battlements, as was their ritual. She needed this time with him every day, even if their lives did not intersect in any other meaningful way, and he was more than glad to indulge her routine just to spend one more moment with her than he would be allowed otherwise. The sun was setting in the west, but it was late, and unlike the winter months they were in no real danger of running out of daylight, even though the mountain air was still chill enough to warrant the fur lining of his vest.

“What do you think about Skyhold, Solas?” she asked. “The clean-up effort is going well. Pretty soon, we can leave again. The rest of Thedas needs our effort just as much as the refugees here.”

“I think that Skyhold is finally happy to have a purpose,” Solas said, stopping and leaning out over parapets, looking into the wooded valley below. “It has been a very long time since the magic here has had a purpose. It responds to you, Inquisitor, and the entire fortress sings as it likely has not sung in many hundreds of years.”

“It seems strange to think about a building being happy, but it’s not really the building, is it? The building isn’t the magic here.” Her brow furrowed and she joined him, looking up at the wispy pink clouds that seemed so much closer here than they did elsewhere. “If I weren’t a mage, I don’t know if I could feel it.”

“Perhaps you could,” Solas said, and reached out to gently clasp her left wrist in his hands.

In response to the press of his magic so near, the Anchor flared and popped with green light, hissing and illuminating both their faces. She stared at the scar for a long moment, and then looked into his eyes.

She did not need to say a word for him to understand how she felt.

* * *

 

**_“Relationship”_ **

“Do you know what’s annoying?” Dorian lounged on his couch, ignoring whatever airs of exasperation Solas tried his hardest to project. “When people make assumptions about you based upon your appearance.”

“Is that not why we attempt to control our appearances so that others see what we wish?” Solas couldn’t help but respond, looking up over the binding of his book to stare at Dorian, who was already looking back at him with a curious expression on his face.

The man twirled his mustache with his left hand and let out a long huff, rolling over to his back and looking up at the scaffolding directly above him. “Well that is true, but I don’t mean fashion. I mean the other things, the things you can’t control.”

“Ah.” Solas said, and then looked back toward his book, taking pause for a moment before he looked up again. “Do you mean Mahvir?”

It occurred to him only because he was privy to Mahvir’s secrets. Lavellan had ensured him it was a testament to just how trustworthy Solas really was that he had confided the nature of his physical body in him as her brother was notoriously shy, though it had never seemed that way to Solas. He thought people were simply asking Mahvir the wrong questions.

Dorian hummed softly in the back of his throat. “What do you think, Solas? Do you think I have a chance?”

“If you are seeking relationship advice, Dorian, you are asking the wrong person entirely.” He frowned sharply, his face all hard lines for a moment before it softened. “But if you want my honest opinion, just the fact that he has confided in you should be proof enough that you share a bond.”

“Perhaps you’re not completely useless in the ways of love,” Dorian said after a long pause, laughing softly.

Solas was in a good enough mood that he chose to ignore the insult and take it for the sign of gratitude that it clearly was.

* * *

 

**_“Play”_ **

The Elven child came running into the rotunda and immediately dove underneath his desk, causing him to drop his book onto the surface rather carelessly. She pressed up against the wood, and then looked into his eyes as if noticing he was there for the first time, her small mouth hanging open in shock. The little thing, black hair plastered to her face, seemed about to speak when two other children walked into the room, both of them also Elven.

“We know you’re in here!” The tallest of them called. “You can’t win again!”

Solas tilted his head, suddenly aware of the point of the game, and leaned forward in his seat. He cleared his throat, drawing the sudden attention of both of the boys, who looked at him with wide eyes. They clearly did not expect him to be here, as now as usually the time the Inner Circle ate together, though Solas had opted to remain with his books today for various reasons.

“She ran toward Commander Cullen’s office,” said Solas sagely, and the boy’s exchanged glances, and then looked toward his ears, as if deciding whether or not he could be trusted.

Neither said a word to him as they both dashed off toward the direction of walkway.

The girl, beneath his desk, stared up at him with still wide eyes, and he pressed a finger to his lips, nodding when the footsteps receded. She stood, cast him a smile, and then ran off in the opposite direction.

The next day, there was a basket of baked goods on his desk, and he did not need to consider long to know where they had come from.

* * *

 

**_“Toy”_ **

He held the small doll in his hands, turning it over again and again as he looked at every feature. It was crude, but it was the best his family could do, seeing as that they were nothing more than the owners of a small farm. Looking at the doll, his sister’s that she had made herself, he felt an emotion well up inside of him, though it was one he could not clearly identify. She had a gift, he thought, like he did, one she may never get to use as long as she stayed on the farm.

Carefully, he placed the doll back on the dresser and stood up, turning his attention to the satchel in his lap. There were a few personal possessions within, and some food items, though he knew in his heart of hearts they would not last him long and that he would need to find another way to survive. He thought again of going to the city, of trying to find a way to make it to one of the many universities within the lands of the Keeper of Secrets, but quickly thought otherwise. Stowing away the satchel, he leaned back on his bed and listened to the sounds of his brothers breathing from the beds next to him.

How much longer he could stay, he didn’t know. He thought of his siblings and his chest did ache ever so slightly. Leaving them would be painful, especially because he had spent so much time taking care of each one of them since they were old enough to walk.

But he had to. Being here was stifling him. Ever dream he’d ever had of being more than the son of a vegetable farmer was crushed as long as his parents kept him under their thumb.

He was meant for more than this boring life, and sooner or later his restraint was going to shatter and his freedom would matter more than his family.

* * *

 

**_“Famous”_ **

“How does it feel?” June swirled the wine in his goblet around, his face as expressive as it always was as he looked out at the motely crowed gathered. “You’re surrounded by Craftsman and Commoners and have managed to confuse the courts of five of the other Creators. Quite an accomplishment, if I do say so myself.”

“Not bad, for a night,” Fen’Harel agreed, taking a sip of the wine. “I intended to make an impression.”

It was warm on his tongue, unusual, not like anything he had tasted before, but this was the first party he had ever attended. He had never seen so many people so well-dressed in one place before. To be honest, interacting with others was a bit draining, but he couldn’t help but be excited by the prospects of what the night might bring.

“If you wanted to shock and amaze the aristocracy by reaching out to the working class and making yourself accessible to the common people, you’ve done above and beyond your job.” June placed his goblet down on the table and turned his eyes to Fen’Harel, offering the other man a smile. “It makes me want to make a few deals of my own.”

“Feel free,” Fen’Harel replied. “By all means. It would likely be to the benefit of everyone in this room if there were more… international cooperation between the territories.”

June hummed, his smile never leaving his face. “Someday, _fenlen_ , that sort of thinking just might make you famous.”

* * *

 

**_“Emotion”_ **

Solas sat on the edge of the bath, staring up the shimmering ceiling, the reflection of a memory. There was a soft churning in the center of the waters, a shimmering light that he could feel coalescing into a consciousness. He had witnessed the birth of enough spirits that he could feel the will of the Void itself giving life to yet another being, a spirit born of the latent energies given off by the death of another.

His heart clenched and he stood, turning away from the sight as he walked quickly through the hallways of the bathhouse. Around him spirits muttered, and though his emotion might attract the attention of the spirits the Chantry called “demons”, he had no fear of possession. Most would not dare to approach him out of fear of his power, for here he was as limitless as he had always been.

There was nothing for him here now, he thought, nothing but the lingering memories of a pain that would be weaved into the fabric of the Fade by the spirits who bore witness to his grief.

All he could do was return to Skyhold and do as he had always done.

The Dread Wolf would endure.

* * *

 

**_“Run”_ **

His jaw throbbed and his eyes stung, but he shed no tears as he pulled his satchel to his chest and stared at the woman attempting to block his way from the house with cold fury burning in the depths of his eyes. Before this moment she had always looked so steady, but as he stared at her he could see the age in her face. Her hands seemed small, too small to stop him, too weak to hold him back.

The air pulsed with magic and his ears buzzed with it as it pressed around him.

“Move,” he said, his voice unwavering and colder than he had ever heard it before.

He felt strong, finally realizing how much taller and stronger than he was. What had held him back from leaving before now, he couldn’t imagine. Sentimentality and the belief that his siblings couldn’t one day do the same without him, perhaps.

“Think about what you’re doing,” his mother said in a voice frantic enough to defy description, holding up her hands. “Where are you going to go?”

His magic surged forward, pressing into her and setting her off balance, pushing her and holding her to a nearby wall. It didn’t hurt her, but it was enough for him to rush past her, pausing only to answer her question.

“Wherever I want.”

He didn’t look back.

* * *

 

**_“Fear”_ **

_Harel._

He had never thought that a word chosen specifically to exemplify everything he stood for would come to knock the air from his lungs. It was so dissonant when before he had stood for the People as best as he was able. He was the Rebel Wolf, the man who provided refuge for misfits and pariahs, who lived and fought for the sake of freedom.

Now what was he?

He ran his thumb across the image graven on the outside of the sylvanwood ring, his brow furrowing as he looked at the snarling, drooling creature that could only barely be called a wolf. It was a wicked thing, depraved, a depiction of a barely-sentiment beast consumed so greatly by his own hatred that he played petty tricks and brought nations to their knees for his own enjoyment.

Somewhere in the last thousand years, the Rebel Wolf who had seen himself as one of the People had been replaced by this monster. He could barely recognize himself in the motivations, though the actions were certainly his own.

_Harel._

Whatever it had meant once, it didn’t matter. His noble struggle had been in vain, for the only remnants of the People left who remembered him at all remembered him as Dread.

* * *

 

**_“Gamble”_ **

Blackwall was visibly distressed, sitting in nothing but his smalls, staring at the cards in his hand with a bead of sweat on his brow. Solas probably should have told him that he had experience gambling, though he had never played Diamondback before now. He was a fast study, and beyond that, he could count cards.

“Are you ready to give up?” Solas attempted to provide Blackwall an out, but the man’s face was drawn into a stubborn expression that told Solas he had far too much pride to back out.

“I have managed to get you to take that damn amulet off. As far as I figure, I still have a chance.” Blackwall didn’t sound completely convinced, but returned to staring at his cards with a new determination in his face.

Solas simply shook his head, smiled, and turned his attention to the game. His mind drifted for a moment to different games with different people, sitting in dark rooms with Andruil at his side. Back then, things hadn’t been nearly so turbulent. The two of them had a strong friendship and took many people for broke in the taverns of various cities across the realm, hiding their identities and playing for thrill more than coin. In games of chance and skill, there had been no one who had been better.

Perhaps there still wasn’t, Solas thought as Blackwall cursed and dropped his cards on the table, standing and dropping his smalls unceremoniously to the floor. “How the hell did you do it?” Blackwall’s face was bright red, and he shook his head in shame, his eyes daring around the room for something to cover himself with.

Solas smiled again and picked a bucket up off of the floor, pushing it across the table toward Blackwall. “I will return your clothing to you tomorrow.”

Blackwall looked toward the bucket, then back toward Solas, and swallowed. “Well at least you’re considerate,” he said, rubbing his hand over his beard. “Solas? Remind me never to play you in cards again.”


End file.
